


Zephyr

by Reishiin



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 05:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17677340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/pseuds/Reishiin
Summary: Stefan finds Soren first, and Ike meets them in the desert.





	Zephyr

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



> I loved this prompt of yours: _[...] the two of them ending up on opposite sides of the battlefield, Stefan finding Soren first and persuading him to stay with the Branded tribe, so Ike meets him in the desert._

The Grann Desert never changes. The rest of Tellius weathers the passing of seasons, blistering summer into snowbound winter, but year on year Grann is silent and dry, inured to the outside world by high dunes and windswept sand. Life in the hidden village, too, is silent; their lengthened lives stretch out through the unchanging days, as vast and empty as the desert.

Most of the Branded arrive here as adults, already accustomed to hiding in plain sight and to walking among beorc without ever truly being one of them. Soren is one of the few whom Stefan had met as a child; he has lived most his life here, and all he knows of the world outside is from Stefan’s books, the stories told by traveling merchants passing through, and his own memories from before.

Soren has a strategic mind, suited to logistics, and over time as he grew up he had taken over the budgeting and supply management for the village. Sometimes, when they are both deep in invoices and accounting ledgers, Soren will rise from his chair, walk to the door and look out over the empty desert sand. Sometimes, Stefan follows his gaze. That way lies north-northwest, Stefan knows; that way lies Crimea.

Stefan thinks that Soren trusts him, as much as any of the Branded can trust anyone. Even so, Soren keeps many things locked tightly away; he will not talk about his blood heritage, his past, or the origins of his magical skill which even now still surpass most trained mages his age. Still, even though Stefan does not know what secrets Soren keeps, he thinks that not all of them are painful ones. All of them here have known cruelty, but Stefan thinks that Soren has also known kindness. Even if the memory of it is now only like a mirage shimmering over sand.

 

* * *

 

 

  
A passing merchant mentions a beorc-laguz alliance army traveling through Grann, and Stefan asks Soren to accompany him to pay them a visit. "Let's go say hello, make some friends. Maybe stay in their camp a few days and see if we can't persuade one or two of them to tell us things."

As they approach the battlefield Stefan instructs Soren to stay hidden; he himself cautiously approaches one of the tiger laguz who has broken away from the main group. As they are talking, Stefan sees Mordecai's eyes fix on something behind him. The tiger says, "This..."

Stefan says, "Ah, a friend of mine. A wind mage. Perhaps he may be of use to General Ike, too."

When the skirmish is concluded Mordecai takes them back with him to where the army is setting up base camp near the desert’s edge. He explains that they suffered casualties in the fight and will stay several days to rest and recuperate. Stefan thinks this is just as well: all the better for him to network a little more.

Ike, the leader Mordecai had named earlier, is a tall beorc with good intentions and a good sword arm. Stefan smiles and shakes his hand and thanks him for his hospitality; thinks that in a different and better world, he might have liked to train him. Soren remains by Stefan’s side, quiet as a shadow, and says nothing.

It is late in the day, and soon conversation is lively around the campfire over the evening meal. While everyone else is otherwise occupied, Stefan nudges Soren gently. "Quite taken with the general, aren't you? Didn't imagine that he would be your type."

Soren flushes. "That's not--" He yanks Stefan down to his level and hisses, "I'll explain later,” and makes sure to look in the other direction for the rest of the evening.

 

 

“Later” is after the dinner things have been cleared and the campfire has dwindled to an ember, and Mordecai and Lethe scrounge up some spare canvas and tent poles and set up another tent for the newcomers. "I met him before,” Soren explains once the Gallians have left. “Just a few days before I met you. He saved my life. You would have found me dead in a ditch if not for him."

Stefan murmurs his understanding, files that piece of knowledge away. One more piece of the puzzle that is Soren.

That night a cool gust of air rouses Stefan from sleep. The tent flap is open, fluttering gently with a breeze, and Soren is nowhere to be seen. Soren has always moved like the wind: quiet and leaving no trace. But Stefan has sharp senses and tracks him from a distance to make sure he is safe.

Soren has not gone far. In the sky, the harsh half-disk of the moon illuminates his silhouette by the campfire pit, which is empty at this time of night but still littered with the remains of the kindling, surrounded by flat rocks or gouges in the sand where people had sat earlier. Signs of life and of habitation.

Soren has braced himself against a nearby tree, shoulders heaving with silent sobs, and Stefan thinks: he has never seen Soren cry before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Over the next few days the army rests and recuperates; Duke Tanas’ estate offers to replenishes their supplies. Stefan finds Mordecai again and treats him to the promised dinner, fortuitously meeting the rest of the Gallian regiment in the process, and an especially industrious cat convinces him to take a day-trip to show them the best fishing spots at the river by the desert’s edge.

Passing through the mess hall on their return, Ranulf jerks his head at the end of a long table where Ike and Soren are deep in discussion over a map of Begnion. "Getting along well with your friend, isn't he?"

Stefan follows his eyes. “That's unusual. For Soren, I mean."

Ranulf shoots Stefan a grin. "You know, Ike is always saying how we really could use a tactician."

They have been here only several days but Soren has already familiarized himself with the camp, the composition of its fighters and its resources. Evening after evening a candle burns late into the night within the marquee where Soren talks with Ike, and sometimes Titania and Oscar, about where the campaign intends to go from here. Formations, strategies, plans to cross the difficult terrain between here and Daein, plans for what they will do once they are there. Stefan remembers that Soren used to raid the shed containing the village’s meager collection of books and emerge with military tomes no one has touched in years. Now, Soren can finally put that knowledge to use.

"What do you think of the army?" Stefan asks Soren, eventually.

"Well-intentioned but unorganized," Soren says briskly. "I hope to rectify some of that while I'm here."

 

 

Late in the evening, when the camp is quiet and most people have retired to their nightly routines.  passing by the marquee after excusing himself from Mordecai and the others for the evening, Stefan notices that the interior of the tent is still lit, and glances in through the open tent flap as he passes.

The maps of Tellius lie over the folding table, unattended, the chairs on either side still in disarray from this afternoon's meeting. To one side, Soren’s hands are knotted at the back of Ike’s neck as he stands on his toes to kiss him; Ike’s eyes are closed, his hands tangling in Soren’s hair, both of them lost to the world.

Stefan walks on; he has no wish to intrude. He is remembering again that long-ago day, Soren’s silhouette in the doorway as he looked out across the desert toward the invisible shape of Crimea in the distance, the sharp black of Soren’s robes against the pale sky and golden sand. In a way, Stefan thinks he has always known how the village would one day lose its most prized scholar.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days pass quickly in Grann; each dawn is indistinguishable from the next, the sun rising always over the stretch of desert sand. But the conversation that fills the air this morning is different: tomorrow, the army will move on from Grann and continue toward Daein.

Stefan deems it prudent to leave that afternoon so that the camp will not have to deal with them tomorrow in the flurry of packing, and Ike comes around as they are dismantling the tent. “I came to say goodbye. And to thank you for all the help you’ve been these few days.”

Soren drops what he is doing, but stubbornly says nothing, and Stefan steps in to fill the silence. He has no idea what possesses him to say, "To me, but not him, surely." Soren glances at Stefan with a question in his eyes and Stefan continues, "You're a buried talent. Ike needs a tactician. Match made in heaven, don’t you think?"

Absurdly, he feels like a father about to hand over his child's hand in marriage.

Ike turns to Soren then. "Soren, would you want to? Stay on here as our tactician."

"… yes, of course. I would be honoured," Soren finally replies, then turns to Stefan. “But I’ll go back with you first. I still need to collect my things.”

 

 

Ike accompanies them back to the hidden village, but out of respect he goes no further than the border, and waits there while Stefan helps Soren pack.

Stefan tosses Soren an empty travelling-case, helps Soren gather together his things. “Does Ike know who you are?”

“He remembers how we met. He’s surprised I remember him.”

“I meant—who you are. What this place really is.”

Soren pauses; stows away the wind tome in his hands, then looks away. "No, I haven’t said anything. The time isn't yet right. But I will tell him, one day..."

It is late in the afternoon and strong sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the dust suspended in the air. Soren has never been one for material possessions. Even packed up, his room looks almost the same, and his things barely fill a case. Stefan crosses the room, grasps Soren’s shoulder. “You’ll do great things, Soren, I know it. And remember that no matter what happens, there will always be a place here for you.”

“… Thank you, Stefan.”

 

Out by the village gates, Stefan hands the case of Soren’s things to Ike and says, “Please, take care of him.”

“I will,” Ike replies, and Stefan thinks he means it.

To the Branded, the word love has only ever been a curse. The very existence of the hidden village is proof of that. Even so, throughout Tellius, the winds are changing direction. Today Stefan can say he has seen laguz fight alongside beorc against a shared enemy. The future inherited by Ike and Soren’s generation will be something unlike anything any of them have ever seen before.

Now Soren falls in step by Ike’s side as if he has been doing it all his life, as if he were Ike's shadow given physical form. Stefan watches their departing silhouettes until they vanish into the horizon. By the gates their footsteps have been swept clean by the passing wind, as if they had never been there at all.


End file.
